story. If you are joining us now,
you can read the previous parts starting here.
One August night, a particularly strong smell of trash hovers into the woods. The death-like reek is a reminder of the garbage truck, now probably visiting the house closest to the forest. Usually a trip to a freshly emptied trash shed is not worthwhile, but the dry weather has transformed the territory into an empty and cruel area. It is almost autumn, time to start preparing for hibernation. Food must be found, weight must be gained.
Mother does not hear or see danger, so it directs her cubs to the shed. The hungry group climbs over the sharp edges of the bins and begins devouring the delicacies left behind by the truck, whose driver must have been in a hurry to catch an evening coffee since a lot is still there.
In the back corner, at the very end of the wooden shed, a lonely, see through jar sits at the bottom of a green bin. The jar, a visually extremely ordinary individual, has a scent of exceptional, irresistible bliss. It is already dark when the cub shoves its snout deep into the jar. It drools, licks and lets its furry tummy fill up with the pleasure of old milk. It cleans it as precisely as possible, and is pleased, so pleased. It has found Something. Life is good.
But our tale is a tragedy. Jarhead Bear's bearhead is stuck deep and tight in the plastic jar.
No comments:
Post a Comment